In the Present, the Past
by taylyn10
Summary: Daniel remembers.


_This story was inspired by a Pentangular Gate prompt: Five things Daniel remembers._

_My grateful thanks to Devra whose help is golden!_

* * *

Daniel remembers many things clearly about his parents.

Not their deaths, oddly enough. Not that he doesn't remember it, because he does, he remembers it well; but that's not what he remembers most.

What Daniel remembers is that they told him to put away his tools when he was done with them because an archaeologist needs to have a sense of order to understand the chaos of the centuries.

"Daniel, do you have that last crate packed? We'll need to tie the whole thing down, so let me know when you're done," Sam said. "Be careful with that thing. It's probably older than General O'Neill and twice as valuable."

Daniel smiled. "Don't let Jack hear you say that."

"Exactly how old is the general?" Vala asked. "And when do I finally get to meet him?"

She and Sam discussed the legendary General Jack O'Neill while Daniel continued packing. He tugged the last bit of tissue paper around a vase from a dynasty that would make Ming look like last Tuesday, and would keep his department in tears of joy for months.

ooOOoo

What he remembers is that they taught him to love language, and its discovery. He remembers at the ripe old age of seven gently brushing the dirt away from faint hieroglyphics on a temple wall, trying to read the story revealed there, while his parents knelt on either side of him.

"Will this translation take you long, Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c leaned over Daniel's shoulder to look at the artifacts arrayed carefully for transport. "Some of the script seems familiar. If you require my assistance..." His voice faded away.

"I'd be happy to have your help, Teal'c," he answered. Some of the writing was a Goa'uld variant and some of it—some of it—was in Ancient. He had tablets, scrolls, hours of video footage, all waiting for him to unlock their secrets—when he had time, when he wasn't off world, when he could spare an hour or two. He secured the lid on the last crate and tried to figure out when he'd have a free day to immerse himself in discovery.

ooOOoo

What he remembers is that his parents wouldn't let him bring his artifacts into the house, or the tent, or wherever it was they called home at the time. They gave him space in one of the outbuildings for his "treasures" and made him keep all of them—animal, vegetable, or mineral—in a safe spot away from their living quarters. Until they found him sleeping beside his discoveries to protect them from grave robbers—at which point they'd dragged him inside and put him to bed, treasures scattered all about the floor.

"So, Daniel," Vala stuck her chin in his shoulder, startling him, "can we sell any of this stuff on the black market—or on eBay?"

Daniel shrugged his shoulder to dislodge her. "Nothing here but a bunch of scrolls no one can read and some broken pottery. I can't see there being a big market for this outside the SGC."

"We spent all week digging up things we can't sell?"

"_I _spent all week digging up things we can't sell. _You _spent all week heating up MRE's." Which wasn't entirely true because Vala, in her own irritating and persistent way, had helped. She'd been surprisingly careful handling Daniel's artifacts, and surprisingly methodical helping Sam collect and label soil samples. And those MRE's, the one's Vala had heated up, those she'd forced on Daniel and Sam, making them eat even when they didn't want to.

"I told you I could cook," she whispered in his ear.

ooOOoo

What he remembers is that they never let him go anywhere alone. It was unsafe to venture too far into narrow tunnels that held unknown dangers. No matter how tempting the discovery, they kept him by their side, watching and waiting until it was safe to go farther.

Daniel looked at the labeled crates now lashed onto the FRED. They contained as many artifacts as he could squeeze into the limited space but perhaps he could fit a couple more tablets in his pack. He looked up the hill in the direction of the temple.

"Don't even think about it, Jackson." Mitchell stood by the DHD waiting for the rest of his team to give him the go ahead to dial the 'gate. "We're not going back into any dark, dank, dungeons looking for more stuff to drag home. We're already going to have to put an addition on to the base as it is."

"What? You don't think it'll fit in Daniel's garage?" Sam asked as she checked her own sample filled crates. She tossed a power bar to Daniel. "Eat," she ordered him. "It'll give you something else to do with your hands."

The journey through the 'gate had Daniel hovering over the FRED as they spilled out on the other side, both hands resting on the top of the pile, guarding the load of crates and supplies in case the rough trip or the bumpy landing sent everything flying. At the bottom of the ramp stood several SF's along with General Landry, who was waiting for their report, and General Jack O'Neill, who was waiting to visit his favorite team.

"Hey, I see Walter's decorated the place since I was here last. Did you do a new coat of gray paint?" Jack asked. "What a shame you're going to clutter up the place with all this... stuff."

Mitchell gave Landry an quick mission update, while Jack said his hello's to everybody else.

"What are we doing with all this crap anyway?" Jack asked and then didn't wait for an answer. He slapped Teal'c on his back, gave Sam a hug, and introduced himself to Vala who gave _him _a hug--much to his chagrin. The SF's came by and collected their weapons.

"Can we hurry this up?" Jack complained. "I'm not getting any younger here."

Vala's choked reply from behind was cut off by Sam's whispered, "Not now."

Orders were dispatched for the crates to be taken to storage unless, as Jack put it, they found a big incinerator to dump them in first. After Landry dismissed everyone with an order to get their reports in by tomorrow, the team dispersed leaving only Jack and Daniel in the 'gate room.

ooOOoo

What he remembers most clearly about his parents isn't sadness and loss.

"Daniel, sometime this week would be good—before O'Malley's runs out of steak."

It isn't their death.

"Daniel?"

What he remembers most clearly is...

"Any time now."

Life.


End file.
